


The years are rolled away

by jadelotusflower



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, But tensions, Everybody Lives, F/M, Gen, Happily Ever After (sort of), My Gang to Me 2020, One big happy Locksley family, Post-Canon, Scads of kids, The First Baron's War is six years away, they be a brewing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadelotusflower/pseuds/jadelotusflower
Summary: 26 April 1206 - fourteen years after the rescue of the Locksley Four, old friends and new family gather to mark the day.
Relationships: Guy of Gisborne & Marian of Knighton, Marian of Knighton/Robin of Locksley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	The years are rolled away

**Author's Note:**

> _The dead are coming back again; the years are rolled away  
>  In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day._  
> \- Sherwood, Alfred Noyes

**26 April 1206**

In Locksley Manor, it was impossible to sleep in. Robin was always up as soon as the cock crowed, the absence of his warm body in the bed beside her replaced with a cool rush of air through the bedclothes, and as much as he tried to stay quiet when dressing, he always seemed to find that creaky floorboard as he left. Still, Marian persevered, often able to shift back from half-wakefulness into a light slumber while the sun was still rising.

Inevitably the house would wake; servants would be about their business downstairs, the children would venture forth and begin their morning rampage. On those days where they invaded the master bedroom, or one called fretfully from the nursery after a bad dream, Marian would pull herself from the comfort of her bed most willingly. But there were a few lucky days where she could snatch a few extra moments of rest, to stretch out lazily on the mattress, or cocoon the bedclothes around herself; a time for contemplation before her day began.

There was much on her mind, worries that would not cease to trouble her even in sleep. It had been ten years of relative peace following the return of Richard and the ousting of Sheriff Vaisey, but the last seven had been hard following the King’s death - meagre harvests and poor weather, not to mention crippling levies issued by the Crown, had made management of the estate increasingly difficult. There was also the letter she’d consigned to the fire the previous night, its words running over and over in her mind.

She heard Robin’s footsteps on the stairs, his light but rapid tread unmistakable, and sure enough he entered the room with an energy she always envied. 

“Still abed?” he chastised her with a teasing grin as he moved to the basin by the window and poured water from the pitcher. “It’s a beautiful day out there.” 

Marian rolled over, gathering the pillow beneath her cheek and taking a few moments to watch him as he leaned over the basin to splash water on his face. 

“It’s nice in here too,” she said mildly. He turned and caught the look on her face, grin widening as he practically dove onto the bed to kiss her waiting lips.

“Don’t you dare get mud on the sheets,” she scolded him playfully as she pulled back. “I saw your boots, they’re filthy.”

Robin laughed and touched his nose to hers. “There was a time you didn’t care what state my boots were in.”

“When you sleep on the forest floor it doesn’t much matter.”

“Ah,” he kissed her again, “those were the days.” 

“You are welcome to the greenwood,” she teased him, running a hand down his arm. “Forgive me if I prefer a bed.”

“My only preference,” he cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes, “is to have you beside me.” 

But he couldn’t keep a straight face, the years having worn such an ease between them that romantic flourish was unnecessary. 

“Almost _twenty_ years and you’re still peddling the same drivel,” she tapped his lips playfully, and he caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers. Unlike when he returned from war, this time she let him kiss her, languidly and with a practiced ease that nonetheless still caused a leap in her belly.

But both were well aware that they could not tarry, and he reluctantly released her with a final light peck on the lips. With a sigh, Marian threw back the bedclothes and rose, stretching out her arms. 

“I have to do the accounts today,” she said absently as she moved to the closet to dress.

“Today?” Robin called after her in indignation. “Can’t you put them off?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” she told him. “We’ve only just gotten all of the rents in.” That had been arduous enough, Robin loathe to take any more than was necessary from his tenants even if it meant falling short on their own taxes. 

“You know it’s not every man that would trust such things to a woman.” Robin leaned against the doorframe of the closet, and gave her a teasing wink. 

“Just you, I think,” she said dryly, turning her back to him and moving her hair to one side so he could help lace her dress.

“Well I’m blessed with a clever wife.” His nimble fingers worked the ties, and then he pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder. “Are the numbers adding up?” 

Marian enjoyed the running of the estate together - Robin hated to be cooped up inside the house, he liked to roam out in the fresh air, walking the length of his lands, talking to his people and overseeing the planting of crops and rearing of animals. As it happened numbers made far more sense to her, and in addition to running the household she kept the ledgers and managed the income and expenditure of the estate. Each found worth and purpose in their respective work; a good team now their efforts were fixed in a single direction. 

But good management could not make crops grow when the weather was bad, it could not prevent pests, or cure sickness. She turned and cupped his cheek; not wanting to spoil his day. A screech of laughter forestalled any further discussion as the door slammed open again, their son bounding into the room and onto the bed. 

“Mama!” Four year old Edward cried as he jumped up and down, tawny hair falling over his eyes. “Time to get up!”

“I’m already up,” she assured him, crossing to the bed.

“Well it’s time to go to Nottingham!” Edward’s exuberance could not be contained, and he leaped into Marian’s arms.

“Be careful,” Robin said uncharacteristically sternly as Edward wrapped his arms around her neck.

“It’s alright,” she told him, hitching the boy up on her hip and tapping his nose. “We have to have some breakfast and wait for your sister to get ready, but then we’ll go.

* * *

Nottingham hadn’t changed much since the days her father had been Sheriff. It was still a bustle of activity, with narrow, winding streets leading to the loud and colourful marketplace, and beyond that the castle foreground before the edifice of dark stone. It was unguarded, the current occupant less concerned with keeping the populace out, although still having a healthy regard for his own safety should one venture inside they would soon be required to state their business or leave.

They lingered in the courtyard, Edward pulling his hand from Marian’s hand to run across the tightly packed earth and bound up the castle steps. At the top he spun back around to face them, his arms spread wide.

“This is where it happened!” he cried out, so excited he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. Robin followed him up the steps with a smile and lay a hand on his shoulder so he didn’t go tumbling down again.

Ten year old Beth folded her arms and rolled her eyes skyward. “You’ve heard the story a hundred times, Ed.”

Marian gave her daughter a look, although she sympathised with the sentiment, having been present at the event itself and sat through many, many retellings over the last fourteen years.

“We’ve never done this before,” she reminded her. “He’s only just old enough to understand.”

Beth sighed heavily, looking longingly up at the castle entrance. “Can’t we go inside?”

“Soon,” Marian promised, glancing behind her through the portcullis. She found her quarry; Allan and Will ambling towards them, each with a dark-haired child in their arms. The sight cheered Beth up, for while the twins at five were only a year older than Edward, she found them much more interesting than her brother. There was, however, a noticeable absence.

“Morning you two,” Marian said as they approached. “Where’s Djaq?” 

“The baker in Nettlestone is ill,” Will explained, releasing a squirming Amina and she ran straight to hug Beth. “She’ll join us at the Manor later.”

Allan set Tom down as well, and Beth took his hand to lead both twins over to where Robin and Edward were standing. 

“You didn’t start without us?” Amina asked with distress as she skipped up the steps.

“I would never!” Robin assured her, crouching down and quickly falling into serious discussion with the girl.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Will asked, his brow furrowed as he looked up the children gathered at the castle entrance.

“You mean allowing tiny children to act out the time their father and uncles almost-” Allan made a sound as he dragged one hand across his throat. 

“Exactly.”

“Nah,” Allan clapped him on the shoulder. “You worry too much mate, they’ve been so excited.”

“Wait for us!” a voice came from behind them, and Marian turned to see Much hurrying along the path, four year old Jack in one arm and tugging along six year old Robyn behind him. “We’re here!”

He released the children as he approached, and then put both hands on his knees, breathing heavily. “I’m getting too old for this.”

“You were always too old for this,” Allan teased, and Much swatted at him.

“Are we ready?” Robin asked, and the children all answered excitedly in the affirmative. “Alright, Edward, you stand here with me, and our poor condemned men can take their places.”

“I’m going to be daddy!” Amina declared as they rushed down the steps and climbed up onto the scaffold.

“And I’m Uncle Allan!” Tom said, hot on her heels. 

“You can be Benedict if you like,” Amina told Robyn, “and Jack is Uncle Luke, because he’s the smallest.”

“Alright,” Robyn shrugged her shoulders. She was a genial child with no particular preference to her role in the game, she simply took her brother by the hand and helped him get into position.

“Daddy, where’s the rope?” Amina asked, looking upwards as Will gave a strangled reply no one could understand. 

“Just pretend, sweet’eart,” Allan called out to her, although even he was suddenly looking a bit unsettled. Marian sympathised - she’d only been watching from the gantry and it had been bad enough, she couldn’t imagine what they’d gone through as the supports were kicked from under their feet and they’d been left hanging by the rope until Robin had freed them.

The children seemed unconcerned, it was all a game to them, a bit of fun - to imagine they were part of the legend their parents had lived. Instead of concern, they simply looked back with anticipation to the top of the castle steps where Robin was telling Edward what to say - a highly abridged version of the death sentence Vaisey had once forced him to read out.

But Marian had noted another inaccuracy. “Aren’t you supposed to be up there on the battlement Much?” she asked playfully, and was rewarded with a withering look. 

“They can pretend I’m up there,” he said, grimacing as he gazed up at the spot he’d almost been thrown from. “Unless Beth wants to play me.”

“I’m too old for these games,” she sniffed, crossing her arms.

“You could always be your mother,” Much suggested, leaning over to examine her hair. “Got any killer hairpins?”

Beth rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but giggle as Much mimed removing a hairpin and throwing it with deadly precision. 

“Oh, here we go,” Will said under his breath as Edward had finished reading out the sentence and looked to his father for approval, which was readily given. 

“Oh, cruel world!” Amina cried out theatrically. “Is this the end? Me and my brother murdered just for trying to feed our hungry family?”

“That’s not how it goes!” hissed Edward, but Robin told him to hush, clearly enjoying the girl’s improvisation.

“Where do our taxes go?” Amina continued with flourish. “To the Sheriff!” she pointed at Robin with narrowed eyes. “To his birds and amusements.”

“I’m not even from Locksley!” Tom spoke up, spreading his arms wide.

“Don’t let us die!” Robyn decided to join in the fun, clasping her hands together in a plea. “You have to save us! Save us!” She nodded to Jack, who gave a squeaky “Save us!” as well.

“Don’t listen to them, hang them!” Robin responded in a very good Vaisey impression. Amina immediately put her hands to her throat and gave a few fake strangled sounds, and the others followed her lead.

Edward puffed out his chest; his big moment had come. “People of Nottingham!” he called out in the loudest voice he could, and Robin handed him a small bow. 

“These men have no committed no crime worth more than time in the stocks. Will you tolerate this injustice? I for one will not!”

“You know in hindsight,” Allan grumbled, rubbing the skin of his neck. “He could ‘ave shot us down and _then_ given his speech.”

Marian chuckled, and then cheered as Edward pretended to shoot arrows from his bow. Tom, Amina, Robyn and Jack fell to their knees as if released from rope, and then rolled around on the scaffold laughing. 

“Guards!” Robin called out, gesturing to his fellow adults. “We can’t let them escape!” Will, Allan, and Much answered the call, and they began to chase the children around the courtyard, whooping and hollering.

Marian turned to see Beth was smiling, but when she realised her mother was watching it disappeared and she gave a significant look up to the castle. 

“Alright,” Marian conceded, looped her arm in Beth’s. “Let’s go.”

The others didn’t pay them much mind as they went inside, children laughing with glee as they evaded the adult’s grasp. No one stopped them on the way to the Great Hall either, all of the guards well aware of who they were and that they required no explanation to visit the Sheriff.

Guy was seated at the end of the hall, where Vaisey and her father had sat before him. Even Robin had once occupied the chair and worked at the desk - hating every minute of those four years, but suffering through because Richard had asked it of him. But then John became king and had not forgotten his ally Gisborne - never knowing, of course, that Guy had been a spy in his camp for many months before Richard’s return.

He still favoured black, although his tastes had mellowed from leather to homespun cloth and fur, looking much as he had when he’d first come to Nottingham except from a smattering of grey hair at his temples and a slight paunch that came with age and fondness for wine. 

“Marian,” Guy smiled as he looked up from his papers. “Beth, how lovely to see you.”

“Hello Beth.” A gangly, dark-haired youth sat next to his father, and smiled shyly as he fiddled with his quill. They were of an age, but the boy was an only child and very timid, even with those he’d known since birth. 

“Morning Roger.” Beth toyed with the end of her hair - allowing the russet curls Marian had wrangled into a braid that morning to escape. “It’s sunny outside, are you stuck doing lessons all day?” 

Roger looked glumly down at his parchment where he’d evidently been copying notes from his father, and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s alright son,” Guy patted him on the back. “Why don’t you go see the Falconer and show Beth your new bird?”

“Oh, she’s a beauty!” Roger immediately perked up, practically jumping from his chair and rushing over to take her hand. “Come on!”

Marian smiled as she watched them leave, then settled herself in the chair opposite Guy. “A new hawk?” she said mildly. “The coffers must be full.”

“It was a gift from the King actually.” Guy picked up his quill again and continued his work. 

“How fortunate you are to be in his favour,” she said wryly. 

Guy sighed and kept writing. “You know I didn’t ask for this position Marian.”

“Yet you accepted it.” She meant to tease him, but it came out more like an accusation. Indeed Guy seemed to take it as one, his quill stilling on the parchment, and he placed it down lightly.

“Years later and you still hold it against me.” More than offended, he looked hurt as he lifted his gaze. “When Richard returned and Robin interceded with him on my behalf, you cannot know how grateful I was. You showed me kindness and gave us protection, and I hope you think that I would do the same for you.”

“I do,” Marian told him, regretting the tone of her words. “I spoke in jest only.”

“You have been a good friend to us,” Guy continued, “Rose would always say…” He bit his lip and looked away, still deeply grieved by the loss of his wife in childbirth only the previous year, along with the babe who had never taken a breath.

Marian knew that pain all too well, her hand straying to her belly, fingers curling inwards towards her palm. It must be even more grievous for Guy, for at least she still had Robin and didn’t know what she would do if he was taken from her. 

“How is Roger coping?” she asked. “Beth was so keen to see him, he has not come to Locksley much lately.”

“It has been difficult,” Guy admitted, still looking away. “For us both, we have not been in the mood for company, and it has been too cold to venture out.”

“But it’s spring now - the sun has come again,” she said. “Fine weather breeds fine spirits, or so Robin likes to say.”

“Yes of course he would.” Guy managed to smile and turn back to her. “Where is your husband and young Edward today?”

“Outside making quite a display in your courtyard,” she laughed. “Re-enacting the great escape of 1192.” 

“Ah.” Guy’s smile faded; it was not a pleasant memory for him. “I had not noted the date.” 

“We’re gathering at Locksley later to mark it.” Marian was determined to cheer him. “You and Roger should come - it would do him good to spend time with other children.”

“And hear everyone reminisce about how terribly his father acted on that day?” Guy leaned back in his chair and grimaced. “I do not think that will be good for him.”

“He won’t hear that,” she assured him. “And company is always good for a lonely child.” Marian did not say that Guy had once been that lonely child in need of friendship, and perhaps if he’d had it, he would not have fallen prey to Vaisey’s influence so readily. 

“Hnm.” Guy clasped his hands and leaned forward on the desk. “I should warn you Marian, that perhaps you should not all speak so freely of the old days. The King is...sensitive, and is beginning to question the loyalty of some of his lords.”

“We have said nothing against him.” Marian felt a creeping concern, that old fear of discovery she’d once used as a driving force not so easy discount now she had far more to lose. “If we honour the past it is only in the memory of King Richard, surely John cannot find fault with that.”

“Maybe not,” Guy looked uneasy, as if he too felt ill at ease slipping back into the role of interrogator. “But I understand you’ve been corresponding with Robert FitzWalter.”

Marian was careful to betray nothing, but was very relieved she had already burnt the letter. It had contained nothing incriminating, but she was too practiced to even take the chance that it may be discovered. 

“How well informed you are,” she said, her voice artificially light. “Although I don’t see why it should be of interest, he is my kin after all.”

Guy scoffed. “A distant cousin, as I understand it.”

Marian bit back a retort that if Guy had any family at all he would surely write to them, no matter how distant. 

“He wrote of his support for the King’s ambition to retake Normandy,” she said, and it was not a lie. Of course it was an omission, and Guy clearly knew it, holding her gaze for several long moments before sighing and looking away. 

“I’m trying to caution you only.” Guy leaned back in his chair again, looking very tired. “Whatever else he may be, John is the King, and this time there is no other to whom you can claim fealty.”

Marian said nothing of the rumors John had murdered the other claimant to the English throne, his nephew Arthur of Brittany who had disappeared several years earlier under mysterious circumstances. FitzWalter had also written of the impressive Philip, self-styled King of France, and while his wording had been precise in case the correspondence was intercepted, it was easy to draw a favourable comparison to the French King over the English one. Philip had even married his son Louis to Richard’s niece Blanche of Castille, and indeed Marian had read between the lines that there may be those who would forsake John for a more appealing overlord.

“I see your mind working Marian,” Guy said softly, “but I never know what you’re thinking.”

“Simply that a crown makes a king, not a good man,” she mused. “Arguably Richard wasn’t either, he barely set foot in his country of which he was supreme lord. But perhaps there is something to be said for a neglectful king over an oppressive one.”

“Come now,” Guy argued, “I know times are hard, but you cannot blame John for poor weather.”

“I can blame him for bleeding this country dry to fund his wars abroad - and yes you can say Richard did the same,” he said before Guy could interject, “but his taxes were never so high, and at least he had victories to show for it. John has also demanded scutage every year whether there is a war to be fought or not. It is unjust, and overly burdensome.”

“Robin could simply perform his military service and avoid the levy,” Guy suggested. “As I have done. He of course has the relevant experience, and I’m sure the King would find him a valuable-”

“No,” Marian’s voice was firm. “He...made me a promise.” War had separated them once before, almost destroyed their happiness, and sometimes Robin still awoke in the night crying and thrashing about. She would not send him back to that, no matter the cost.

“I see.” Guy wisely did not press her, but his concern was deeply etched on his face. “Is your financial situation so dire?”

“Is the King so concerned with correspondence?” Marian deflected, not about to discuss such things outside her family. “Surely one can criticise the manner of his rule without it being treason.” 

“I think he is merely trying to forestall one becoming the other.” Guy was agitated, clearly he’d heard this from the King himself, enough to warn her of his suspicion. “FitzWalter is one of the most powerful lords in the kingdom, and is therefore dangerous.”

“Robin is not. He may be an Earl, but he is a farmer’s lord. He has no knights, no sworn vassals.” 

“He has notoriety,” Guy pressed, “as well as the respect of the barons, and the love of the people. If he speaks out, others will listen.”

Marian could not deny that, the legends of Robin Hood and his gang were still oft spoken of around a hearth, and ballads were sung in public houses up and down the country. Occasionally travellers would come through Nottingham and ask for directions to Locksley, to meet the fabled hero and shake his hand, and ask his blessing for their children. It was a kind of love John had never been able to inspire in the populace no matter how tight his grip over them became. 

Would the King’s vanity and jealousy push them further and further to the brink until there was no option but to retaliate? It had all happened before - they were outside re-enacting the inciting event - but this time Robin could not run off into the forest to live by his wits and hope for the rightful king to return, she could not insinuate herself in a position of trust to undermine their enemies from within. They had the children to think of, Beth growing so fast and close to embarking on adolescence, Edward still in that first blush of youth untainted by life’s hardships, and…

Marian pressed both hands to her belly, and when she looked up Guy was studying her closely. She snatched her hands away but it was too late.

“You’re with child again,” he said softly.

Marian cleared her throat, she hadn’t wanted anyone to know yet. “It’s early, but yes I am.”

“My congratulations,” Guy said, but his expression was mixed, no doubt too close a reminder of his own tragic loss. He looked down at his parchment again and reached for his quill. “I will write to the King, and ask him not to pursue your debt.”

“Thank you.” They both knew the best he could do was forestall it, and hope that harvest in the coming years were bountiful to pay back what was owed. If it was not and they fell further into debt with the King...well it did not bear thinking about.

“But please heed what I have said,” Guy entreated. “No one wants a civil war.”

“On that we can agree,” she said as she rose; they needed to get back to oversee the final preparations. “You should come to Locksley,” she added he walked her to the door. “If trouble comes I don’t want us to be on different sides, not again.”

“We may not have a choice in the matter,” Guy said with a heavy sigh, twirling his signet ring, the instrument of his office. 

“Oh Guy, everything is a choice.” Marian gave him a broad smile, her spirits buoyed with remembrance, and she put a hand on his arm. “Everything we do.”

* * *

The sun above Locksley shone in a clear blue sky, ale was flowing free, the sound of children’s laughter filled the air, and nothing could have made Robin happier. It was somewhat of a meagre feast, given their depleted stores from the harshest winter anyone could remember, but he, Much, Allan and Will had gone straight from Nottingham to Sherwood, not to escape as they had done fourteen years earlier, but in search of game. They’d bagged six grouse and a wild boar, the latter currently turning on the spit and diligently tended to by Much who would trust no one else with the task.

Young Jack watched with rapt attention as his father gave animated instruction as to the correct balance of seasoning and speed of rotation to make the meat taste the sweetest. Djaq was also at the spit giving contrary advice to her namesake, making suggestions as to the spices of her homeland that would add much more flavour, to Much’s exasperation although he conceded that the food in Palestine had been really rather good.

Robin looked around for the child who had been named for him, pleased when he saw the girl, wooden sword in hand, valiantly fend off a playful attack from Tom and Amina. They were besting her, their dual forcing making up for the difference in age, but she did not give up, and sure enough before long Edward barreled onto the scene with a war cry and it became a melee.

Sitting nearby, Beth gave a sigh and rolled her eyes skyward, but every few seconds she looked up from her book to check on the quartet to make sure no one was getting hurt. Beth, his pride and joy, born Christmas morning ten years earlier and the best gift he could ever have hoped for, who pretended not to care even if the grace of her heart was obvious to anyone who observed her. 

He was a lucky man. Robin reminded himself of that every day, not wanting to take a moment of his life for granted in case he would awaken in the forest to find it had all been but some glorious dream. He sought out Marian in the crowd, gaze drifting over the long table they’d brought out into the grounds so all from the village could come and share in the feast. 

The only sour note was the absence of Benedict Gibbons, the fourth man Robin had saved that day in Nottingham. Unable to live in the forest, he and his mother had left Locksley with a purse of silver coins to build a new life elsewhere, but Robin had never heard from them again, and been unable to track them down. It was an old sorrow that had settled in his heart - one of many he had learned to live with. 

But Little John was there, his grey hair neatly combed and once muscular form slightly diminished, but still towering over every man in the assembly. He’d brought his son from where they now lived, but he was a boy no longer - almost as tall as his father and no longer fitting his diminutive nickname. He was sharing a joke with Will and Allan as Djaq approached, having left Much to his own culinary devices. Will slipped his arm around her shoulders and Allan gave her a playful peck on the cheek, and not for the first time Robin wondered as to the exact nature of the relationship between the trio. They all lived together with the twins in a fine house in Nottingham town, where Djaq had established herself as a physician, Will worked as a carpenter, and Allan frequented the local pub and amused locals and travellers alike with his stories and songs. Whatever else was very clearly no one else’s business, although he and Marian occasionally had fun speculating.

If Little John or his son saw something amiss, they did not give any appearance of it, and they fell into discussion about their children - John the younger complimenting the twins (who seemed near victory, pinning Robyn and Edward to the ground) and sharing the good fortune of his own child born the previous year.

“Ah!” Allan said with relish, “ _little_ little Little John!”

They all laughed, and no more so than the man himself, his grandfatherly pride evident. “Mary,” he said, “she fit into the palm of my hand when she was born!” He held it out to show them, and launched into another story, far more loquacious than Robin had ever known him.

Will’s brother Luke was there too - he’d brought his family from Scarborough, a pretty wife and two extremely happy daughters pleased to see their uncle and his friends. He was chatting to Much’s very pregnant wife Eve, who was deftly keeping up the conversation while trying to convince her two year old daughter Letty that eating boiled parsnips was not going to kill her.

And finally, his gaze fell upon Marian, seated next to Eve and smiling at her efforts. Robin was struck by the way the sun hit her dark hair, the rosiness of her cheeks, the joy in her face as she laughed when Letty upended her plate and parsnip pieces flew everywhere. She was as beautiful as the day he’d returned from the Holy Land and she’d aimed an arrow at his chest, the years barely making a mark on her - her face was thinner perhaps, and small lines appeared round her eyes when she laughed, but his heart swelled as if he was still a love struck boy craving the sight of her, even (especially) when she looked at him in anger.

She’d told him all about the letter from Robert FitzWalter and her discussion with Gisborne that morning - he’d laughed and kissed her, amused that for once she was the one with ideas of insurrection, while he wanted to play the long game. She’d denied it, but could not answer the change of exactly why she was now in regular correspondence with key players across the country and even in France. To be prepared, she’d said, just in case.

Robin was tired of politics, which he’d never liked to begin with. All he wanted was to live out their days in Locksley with his family and friends, to love his wife and watch their children grow, to take care of his people and ensure their continued health and happiness. As long as they had the means to ensure that, he cared not for King John and his foreign wars, the bitter disputes between barons over some slight or another, or the tension between noble factions currying for favour or power.

He still lived in the moment, while Marian’s thoughts were all on the future - all the years that had passed had not changed who they were, seeking the same goal but always on contrary sides of the argument about how to achieve it.

So lost in his thoughts, Robin did not immediately notice the gathering grow quiet, save for the children who were now chasing each other around the vegetable patch. When he looked up he saw the reason - Guy of Gisborne and his son lingering at the entrance to the grounds, as if unsure of their welcome. Any other day there would be no hesitation, whatever anger and resentments between him and Guy had faded with time, and although he would hesitate to call him a friend (although no doubt Marian would) there was affection of a kind between them, playfully antagonistic but nonetheless true. 

Realising everyone was watching to be guided by his reaction, Robin strode forward and grasped Guy firming by the hand. “Well don’t just stand there,” he said with a grin. “Come on in and get something to eat!”

The mood relaxed, and soon Guy was chatting amiably with Allan and a few others, while Beth herded Roger to the table and put together a plate for him. Much then decreed the meat to be ready, carving out slices for all those assembled, and it seemed like the old days of plenty, after Richard had returned and they’d been so well fed from bountiful harvests and the king’s grace. 

Robin heaped three slices of boar and a large roll onto a plate, took it over to Marian and presented it to her with flourish

“I’m eating for two,” she laughed, “not twenty!”

“You can’t be too careful,” he said, glancing over at Guy who seemed to be laughing for the first time since his wife’s death. 

Marian swatted at him playfully and set the plate down on the table. Robin sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, surveying the scene with satisfaction - his friends and family well fed, talking and laughing together, safe and cared for. It was all he could wish for, and hope that it would last.

“Do you miss it?” Marian asked, turning slightly to look at him.

“What?”

“The _good old days_ ,” she clarified, “the adventure, the thrill of being an outlaw.”

Robin stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Not so much that I want to give up what I have.”

“If it comes to it though?” A crease formed on Marian’s brow. “Something is brewing - slowly perhaps, under the surface. This feels like the calm before the storm.”

“I don’t think I’ll don the hood again in any case.” He kissed the crease lightly, gratified when it made her smile. “Because we have each other, and the gang. There’s power here,” he gestured to the assembly. “In these people, and this place. Whatever new threat comes our way, we'll get through it together, and fight if that’s what needs to be done. I have faith in all of us.” 

She reached up to cup his face in her hand, smiling as her thumb working lightly over the peppered grey in his beard. “I love you,” she said softly, so only he could hear, and then pulled him down into a fierce kiss. 


End file.
